


Winter

by WroughtBetwixt



Series: JohnWard Prompts [27]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, First Christmas, Food, Gen, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Teen Grant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroughtBetwixt/pseuds/WroughtBetwixt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant laughed; it was a sound John hadn’t heard in a while, and it was music to his ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

Usually, John was very careful.

The one day he happened to not be careful, it was Christmas Eve. Neither was quite sure how it happened-- Grant was busy decorating the tiny, apartment-friendly tree in the living room, and John swore he’d only left the kitchen for a minute-- but one way or another, their pan-roasted duck suddenly became duck flambe. Grant dashed into the kitchen as the fire alarms started screaming, but John was already there, turning off the stove and dumping a box of baking soda on the dancing flames.

Opening the windows, Grant shook his head and leaned against the kitchen wall, breathing in the fresh winter air. There was a tiny smirk on his face, now that it was clear the excitement was over. “I knew you said you were a pyro, but your own house, old man?”

“Er... Yeah, that was unexpected.” John stared at the charred mess of powder and extra, extra crispy duck on the stove. “Well, that’s how you put out a grease fire. Questions?”

Grant laughed; it was a sound John hadn’t heard in a while, and it was music to his ears. They cleaned up the kitchen together, then finished throwing things on the tree; dinner ended up being chili from a can, eaten over a rousing game of Battleship. Grant managed to win, after a lot of cursing, heckling and general, good natured shit-flicking. John went to put the game away, and when he came back, Grant was standing by the tree, fingers drifting over a little silver ornament. 

“Best Christmas ever?” John asked, joking.

“First Christmas ever,” Grant answered. John opened his mouth, a surprised objection on his tongue, but suddenly Grant was wrapped around him in a hug. “Thank you, sir.”

John froze a moment, then relaxed and hugged Grant back. “You’re welcome, kid.”


End file.
